


How Far Forgiveness

by Raynbowz



Series: An Interlude of Time [11]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, almost non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raynbowz/pseuds/Raynbowz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor hurts Jothan after a trip to Hetrios.  Will things ever be the same?  Eleventh in a series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Far Forgiveness

How Far Forgiveness

 A Doctor Who Story 

 

The Doctor lay quietly next to Jothan, the medic's head on his bare chest.  The Time Lord sighed contentedly.  They had just finished a five-day outing on the planet Ippap, and for once no one had tried to sell them into slavery or kill them for some minor misunderstanding.  The TARDIS was fueled and running smoothly, they had stocked up on supplies, and all seemed right with the world.  He was replaying his brilliant chess match with the head Ippapan when he heard a soft voice say, “Hey, you awake?”

The Doctor almost jumped.  “I thought you were asleep long ago.  What's on your mind?”

Jothan responded, “I was just wondering how many more telepathic tricks I can teach you before your brain squishes out your ears.  I've taught you the basics, but there's still more I'd like to have you learn, like easing pain, putting people to sleep, offensive work . . .”

The Doctor thought for a moment, then shrugged.  “Why not try?  I'm up for the challenge.  But not now; you should be sleeping.  It was a long day.”

Jothan sat up a little.  “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can.  Ask away!” the Time Lord offered.

“What do you do while I'm asleep?  I mean, you're not lonely or anything . . . are you?”  Jothan sounded concerned.

“Oh, not at all, Love.  I work in the workshop, do experiments, work on the TARDIS, I read books . . . and if I start missing you, I pop in and sneak a peek.”

Jothan laid back down.  “As long as you're not lonely.”

“I don't get lonely anymore,” the Doctor reassured him.  “Why do you think I keep you around?” he asked playfully.

“To keep your enormous ego in check,” Jothan yawned.  “Arrogant git.” 

“You wouldn't have it any other way, and you know it.”

“True,” Jothan yawned again.

“Speaking of your usefulness,” the Doctor commented, “it's time you got to choose where we go.  Any destinations in mind?”

“No more deserts.  It took me forever to get the sand out of my boots,”  Jothan opened his eyes.  “And no more planets with strong suns—I nearly got roasted alive on Olinth.  We could always go to Trinbalat and try to get eaten by the Jizob again . . .”

“No thank you,” the Time Lord said decisively.  “How about a planet like Blin-Doss?  You seemed to enjoy yourself.”

“The Bazaar was lots of fun and there was plenty to do, but right now I'd rather find a quieter place.  Know any uninhabited worlds with lots of natural wonders?”

“I have just the thing—Hetrios.  They have volcanoes with pink lava, ancient ruins to explore, abundant wildlife . . . it's perfect for what you have in mind.”  The Doctor slid out from under Jothan's head and got up.

“You're leaving?”  Jothan was disappointed.

“You need your rest.  Never mind—when you wake up, we'll be at Hetrios.”

************

Jothan was in no hurry when he woke.  He chose his clothing with care; traveling with the Doctor meant one needed an extensive wardrobe.  He finally decided on a button-down, long sleeved cotton work shirt that was light but strong.  He picked out a sturdy pair of blue jeans, and some thick socks to wear with his boots.  Having gathered the items he went off to the shower, and to the kitchen for breakfast after that.  Once he was done, he headed for the Console Room.

“I thought you would _never_ get—oh, you're ready,” the Doctor said, by way of greeting.  He, of course, wore pretty much the same clothes always, saying he had more important things to do than pick out different clothes to wear.  His shirt was a blue that matched his eyes, but the rest seemed the same as always.  Then he noticed that the Doctor was wearing long tan gloves and asked mischievously, “Making a fashion statement?”

“There's a lot of insects out there that would love a tasty snack of Time Lord, so I figured I'd cut down on their chances.  Don't worry; they won't bother you—too much iron in your blood.”  

The Doctor opened the door and stepped out, and Jothan followed.  He shut the door behind them, then looked around.  They had parked the TARDIS at the edge of a jungle that looked a lot like Earth.  Dense, rich vegetation lay before them, all leaves and vines above, with moss and rocks below.  In front of them was a narrow dirt path.  “If there are no people, who made the path?” the medic asked.

“Ellryls,” the Time Lord answered.  “They're a cross between a wild boar and a dog.  Vicious brutes when riled, and they have a dangerous bite.  Should all be sleeping at this point in the day, though.  So, shall we explore?”

They hiked through the jungle to a secluded waterfall, and explored some of the ruins.  The Doctor said that the people of Hetrios had enjoyed a civilization on the order of the Mayans, and Jothan could believe it after taking a look at what they had left behind.  They had a lunch of native fruit, then headed for some old lava flows.  “I could find us some active lava, if you're interested . . .”

Jothan shook his head.  “Think I'll pass.  Volcanoes are interesting to see from a hefty distance of say, ten miles, but I have no desire to see one close up enough to be cooked by one.  Besides, where there's an active volcano, there's always the possibility of earthquakes, and my first one on Graffameldeturonico was more than enough for me.”

“There you go, always wanting to play it safe,” the Time Lord grinned.

“Can you blame me for not wanting to have to run away _every_ time I set foot outside the TARDIS?  Besides, volcanoes give off toxic gasses and such.  Not my cup of tea, not today.”

“We'll gather a few more fruits to take with us, and then be off,” the Time Lord decided.

As they were picking some of the purple fruits, there was a high, whistling sound from nearby.  “Was that some kind of bird?” Jothan asked.

“Not sure,” the Doctor replied.  “Was close, whatever it was.  Time for us to go.”

They were almost to the TARDIS when a large grey creature appeared from out of a side path and bowled the Doctor over, making the sound they had heard before.  It had a pig snout and body, but the fur of a dog.  It bit once, twice, and a third time before Jothan found a rock to throw.  The rock hit it in the side, and that, coupled with the Doctor's kicks, was enough to scare the thing off.  “Doctor . . .”

The Doctor got to his feet shakily.  Blood was seeping through his left pant leg.  “We have to get back to the TARDIS, quickly,” he whispered.

“Are you going to be all right?” Jothan asked, concerned.

“No, I won't,” the Doctor told him.  “To the TARDIS.  Hurry.”

They made it back to the ship in record time, and the Doctor went to work at once on the controls.  Jothan pulled at his arm, telling him, “You need the Med Center.  We've got to—”

“This is far more important, Jothan,” the Doctor told him tightly.  “I'm taking us into the Vortex and locking the console down for three hours.”

“Locking it down?  Whatever for?  Are you—” 

“Jothan, I don't have much time, so I need you to listen very carefully.  The bite of an Ellryl does strange things to a Time Lord.  I'm going to . . . I'm not going to be safe.  I'm going to be consumed by hate, rage . . . and I need to do all I can to keep you safe, while I still can.  I have about ten minutes before I start to change, maybe less.  There's nothing to be done but to ride it out, which will take an hour or so depending on the severity of the bite.  These bites are pretty bad, so it will probably be a little longer.  Now, you need to find a weapon, and you need to run.  Get as far away from this room as you can.”

“I'm not leaving you while you're hurt . . .” Jothan protested.

“Jothan, you have no choice.  There's absolutely nothing you can do, and if I find you, it'll be horrible for both of us.  I'm locking down the controls so I can't do anything stupid with the TARDIS, but there's no place to lock you where you'll be safe.  You need to get somewhere else, somewhere deep in the TARDIS.  Don't come out for three hours, no matter what you might hear or what I might say.  After that, things will be fine.  Now go, and hurry!  If I find you, do whatever you have to and defend yourself—”

“I won't hurt you!” Jothan resisted.

“You may have no choice.  Just GO!” the Doctor yelled.

Jothan took one startled backward glance, then left the Console Room.  He stopped at the kitchen and found a steak knife.  It wasn't much, but if the Doctor was going to be as violent as he claimed it would be better to have something rather than nothing at all.  He took it in his hand, debated, then dropped it back in the drawer.  He couldn't bear the thought of hurting the Doctor, no matter what might happen.  He then started running down the halls and through doors, looking for a place to hide.  

He didn't have to go far before he was lost.  Since they had moved the frequently used rooms close to the Console Room, he hadn't needed to go any deeper into the TARDIS, and hadn't bothered.  He knew some of the rooms he would find belonged to former companions and that there was an engine room and another control room somewhere, but he had no idea how to get to any of them.  The maze of corridors which all looked alike was disorientating at the best of times, and this was anything but the best of circumstances.  He opened a door at random, and found only more corridors.  He went down the halls again, then opened another door and stepped through.  Unfortunately, this door opened onto disturbingly familiar hallways, and he realized he was near the Laundry Room.  That was far too close to the Console Room for his liking, and he had just turned to go back when he heard an awful, strangled cry, hoarse and barely human.  The sound echoed through the passages, and Jothan's heart almost stopped.  As quietly as he could, he went back through the door and closed it.  The Doctor was right; Jothan had no business being near something that made a noise like that.

He went back down the passages as silently as he could, not wanting to run into whatever the Doctor had become.  Another door appeared, and he opened it and hurried in.  This was a closet of some kind, and he decided to bury himself in it; it would be as good a place as any.  He pushed his way through the boxes until he found a door at the other end, and decided to keep going; maybe there would be another, safer place to hide.  He opened the door and closed it hard behind him, then stopped short.  An all too-familiar door was in front of him—the door to the Doctor's workshop.  It was standing open, and there was a horrible racket coming from inside.  Again, Jothan heard that desperate cry, and realized that the Doctor must be in the workshop, and probably heard him come out.  He knew he had to run at once.    

He only had a chance to take a few steps before he felt a hand grab him by the back of the neck.  The hand jerked, and Jothan was yanked off his feet.  He sat down hard and looked up into the cold eyes of the Doctor, who was smiling.  It was not his usual happy grin, but a small upturn of the corners of his mouth.  It scared Jothan more than the cry had.  There was no warmth in that smile, and the eyes almost glowed with hate.

“Going somewhere, Jothan?” the Doctor asked in far too calm a voice.  “I think not.”  He grabbed Jothan by the face and slammed his head into the floor.  Jothan's last conscious thought was that maybe he should have taken the knife, after all.

*************

Jothan woke up handcuffed and tied to one of the coral struts in the Console Room.  He was facing the console, and opened blurry eyes to the Doctor banging one hand on the nearest control panel.  He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but figured it must have been at least ten minutes.  He added quickly in his head, and figured it had been about twenty since the Doctor had been bitten; that meant at least forty more minutes to go.  Jothan desperately prayed that the time would go quickly and with as little damage for all concerned as possible.

The Doctor looked a mess.  His leather jacket hung on the coat rack and seemed to be fine, but his shirt looked like it had been ripped apart, and his pants weren't much better.  His pale blue eyes seemed to glow and spark, even from this distance.  Jothan watched the Doctor circle the console again and again, and wondered what would be next.  Then he realized that the Time Lord was watching him, and he groaned inwardly.  It would have been so much better to pretend to be unconscious until this was all over, but it was too late now.

“Awake so soon?” the Doctor asked in a chilling tone.  

Jothan almost whimpered at the sound, but kept silent.  If he cried out or made any noise of that kind, he was pretty sure it would be much worse.  The Doctor almost sounded like his normal self, but there was a little edge in his voice that wasn't usually there, and the eyes were completely wrong.  Jothan didn't move; he just watched, and waited.

Slowly, the Doctor came over to where Jothan was bound.  Without warning he punched Jothan savagely in the mouth.  “Sleep your life away if you could, you disgusting humans!  Well, that's just a little something to keep you awake and paying attention.  I want your _full_ attention, you see.  I'm going to have my say, and you're going to listen, 'cause there's no one else.  By the time I'm done with you, you'll wish your ancestors had never crawled up on dry land.”  The hate in his voice was palpable.

Jothan spit out a mouthful of blood, but didn't speak.  He followed the Doctor with his eyes as  the man paced around the Console Room.  

“Humans.  Filthy, stinking apes.  I travel the whole of Time and Space with entire galaxies at my beck and call, and where do I always come back to?  To a planet overrun with dirty, savage monkeys.  Saved their planet, even.  Saved their planet more times than I can count, and coming from a Time Lord that means something.  Never any thanks, never any gratitude, and they never learn.  Stupidest sentient race in the universe, humans.  Spread like cockroaches, they do.  In some galaxies humans are considered to be an infestation like termites, and they're treated as such.  Reckon those blokes have the right idea.  Eradicate the lot, and let Nature find some other species to spread across the stars.  Humans certainly don't deserve the privilege.”

The Doctor sat down on the seat, thinking.  He then said in a low voice, “Part of it's my fault, y'know.  If I'd cared more about my own people and less about a bunch of mutant primates who shouldn't have evolved past the discovery of fire, maybe there would have been a chance.  Perhaps if I'd been paying attention to my duties as a Time Lord, I could have thought of a way to defeat the Daleks without the sacrifice of Gallifrey.  But no, not me—I'm too interested in the welfare of lice-ridden filth of humans instead of my own kind.  And now, it's too late.  I'd take it all back, you know?  I'd take back every single time I interfered in the business of Earth for one more hour, no—one more second of my planet's existence.”

The man was standing again, hands on the coat rack.  Suddenly he swooped the wooden rack up in his hands and swung it against Jothan's coral support with all his strength, but on the opposite side from where the medic was tied.  The coat rack splintered in a loud crack, fragments flying.  Several hit Jothan in the face, but none did any damage.  The leather jacket landed on the deck and slowly settled where it had been flung.

The Doctor grabbed Jothan by the hair and wrenched his head back.  “You see, Jothan, you and your race just aren't worth it.  You're not worth my time, or my trouble . . . not even worthy of my notice.  You're nothing.  Especially you.  I can't believe the time and effort I've wasted on you, and for what?  Over one whole standard year, and what have I gotten in return?  Absolutely nothing!  You have got to be one of the most worthless companions I have ever had.  You're useless in a fight, no help with puzzles, not strong, not clever, not anything!  You can barely fix a splinter, and you call yourself a medic!  I've saved your life how many times now?  Ten?  Twenty?  And can you honestly say you've saved me so much as _once_ in return?  Have you done _anything_ worth my notice in the entire time you've traveled with me?  Not once, not ever.  You're just a waste of space, nothing more.”

The Time Lord spit full in Jothan's face, then shoved his head into the coral strut, releasing him.  “Sweet Rasillon, I've even _slept_ with you!  Me, a Time Lord—conqueror of galaxies, the Oncoming Storm—reduced to shagging a scrawny, fawning primate!  Oh, if the High Council could see me now, to see the depths I've sunk to!  They'd have me shot, they would—and no wonder!”

The Doctor stepped away, sitting down on the deck.  He bounded up again at once, grabbing Jothan again.  “Of all the lovers I could have had, out of trillions of possibilities, I had to be saddled with you.  You're like a bony stick to sleep next to you're so skinny, you smell like the filthy ape you are, and needy . . .”  

The Time Lord stopped for a moment, then resumed speaking in a bad, nasal imitation of Jothan's voice.  “Oh, Doctor, won't you stay with me tonight?  Please, Doctor, won't you hold me until I fall asleep, like I'm a five-year-old?  I can't stand up on my own two feet and be a man, you see, just can't manage it, so please, Doctor, please love me tonight . . .”  

He pulled at Jothan's arm painfully, talking in his own voice again.  “Isn't that you, Jothan?  Isn't that just . . . so . . . you?  Always wanting to be loved, only to be loved.  And you actually thought you had the capacity to love me back.  You really thought you could love me in return.  Well, Jothan, sorry to burst your happy little bubble, but you can't possibly understand one thing about me, let alone give me the kind of love I deserve.  I am just so beyond your level . . .”

The Doctor hit Jothan's head against the strut again, then moved away.  “You're supposed to be special, you know?  You're my supposed 'compensation' for losing Gallifrey and the Time Lords, well let me tell you, you're nowhere near enough.  Some 'compensation'.  You're a boil on my arse, and worse.  You're as flavorless and sickening as luke-warm water.  My ancestors were embracing the stars back when yours were still drinking out of mud-puddles, and you have the gall to think you can love me . . .”

The Doctor turned back to Jothan, his voice now bright and cheery.  “Well, you may be nothing more than a foul, disgusting primate, but I'm sure you can provide me with entertainment value at the very least—you owe me that much.  So, here's what we're going to do.  I'm going to grab the sadrisol I was working with in my workshop—it's a strong acid I use—and I'm going to see just how long it takes for human eyeballs to dissolve.  Call it an experiment.  You just stay right there, no running off . . . wait, you can't, can you . . . well, just wait there, and feel free to look around—after all, it's the last thing you'll see.”  The Time Lord gave a frantic giggle, then pranced out of the room, grinning.

Jothan calculated in his head again.  There was still way too much time left, far too much.  If he didn't think of something quickly, he was going to be in serious trouble.  He didn't even want to imagine what acid would do to his eyes, and then there was wondering if the acid would _stop_ after his eyes were gone and the consequences if it didn't . . .

He pulled at his hands but they were securely handcuffed together, and tied to the strut as well.  He tried finding a sharp edge of the strut to try and saw the rope with; that way he would just be handcuffed, which meant he could run away.  He worked furiously for a good ten minutes, but to no avail, there just wasn't a cutting surface.  He tried using the handcuffs to cut through the rope, but again, nothing was sharp enough.  He then tried pulling at the knots, which did no good either.  He was well and truly trapped.  Once again he wished for the steak knife, but dismissed it.  It was too late now, and he would have had it taken away before he could use it, anyway.  He couldn't even use his telepathic powers—the Doctor was still wearing his gloves, so there was no chance at skin-to-skin contact.

Minutes ticked by.  He was wondering what was taking the Doctor so long, then remembered that he didn't _want_ him coming back, not with what he had in mind.  He'd pretended to be blind before as a child, but the actual prospect was far more chilling.  He closed his eyes, praying to Zeus that he could get out of this mess with all his senses intact and no brain damage.  So far all he had was a concussion, a few loose teeth and some terrific bruises, but if the Doctor decided to get nasty . . .   

Just then, a solid fist in the ribs made the medic's eyes fly open.  “I told you I wanted you alert!” the Doctor snarled.  “I'm not half-done with you yet, you putrid worm.  Fortunately for you, I broke the bottle of sadrisol, and you're not worth finding another one.  However, I did discover this . . .” 

The Time Lord held up what looked like a stun gun.  He pressed a button and activated the device, then pressed it against Jothan's side, shocking him.  Jothan pulled away, but managed to stay silent.  He was then punched in the ribs again, and this time he heard at least one of them crack.  It was all he could do to not cry out, but he managed to keep quiet.  He was pretty sure his life depended on his silence.  The Doctor had never been one for weeping or whining, and he would be much less so in his current condition.  He only had to make it through another fifteen minutes or so, then it would be over.  He kept telling himself this as the Doctor applied the stun gun over and over to various parts of his body.  Just fifteen minutes more, he told himself, and . . .

The Doctor stepped away, pulling something out of his pocket.  Jothan looked, and saw it was a hammer.  The Time Lord made his way over to the TARDIS controls with the tool in hand, and Jothan had to make a quick decision.  The Doctor could do a lot of damage to the TARDIS with a hammer, and some of it might not be fixable.  On the other hand, a hammer could do a lot of damage to _him_ as well, and he wasn't too keen on getting body parts bashed in, especially not his skull.  Still, he would heal, and the TARDIS couldn't.  “Oh, what have you got there?” Jothan asked in a taunting challenge.  “Is the powerful Lord of Time and Space reduced to using human tools to solve his problems?  I thought something like that would be beneath your dignity.  Typical.  So much like the humans you hold so little esteem for, and in the end you're no better.”

The Time Lord looked up, then stalked over to where Jothan was bound.  The look in his eyes was terrifying; Jothan had seen it the day they had encountered the Dalek, though not directed at him.  Now it was, and now Jothan understood why the Oncoming Storm struck such fear into those it chose to.  There was nothing caring in that gaze; nothing human, either.  Jothan felt as though he was in the clutches of some heartless demon, one who would enjoy watching him squirm, or disintegrate, or whatever it could come up with to do.

The hammer swung and came down with force.  Jothan couldn't hold back the scream as his right hand was crushed under it.  He went to his knees, the blood pounding in his ears.  He made himself stop the screams, and stood with difficulty.  He didn't dare look at his hand, so he looked straight into the Doctor's eyes.  “Got any more to dole out?” he whispered breathlessly.  He knew he had to keep pushing, had to stand his ground.  Anything less, and his head would be the next under the hammer.

“You want more?” the Doctor asked softly.  “I can deliver, if you think you're man enough.  I'll break you like a bad habit.  You'll beg, you will.  As a matter of fact . . .”

The Time Lord stepped behind Jothan and reached around for his zipper.  He pulled it down, then pulled down Jothan's jeans and boxers with one yank.  “Go on, beg.  Beg me to stop.  Grovel at my feet, you disgusting ape.”

Jothan felt the Doctor standing behind him, spreading the medic's feet apart.  He turned his head away, and closed his eyes.  He resolved that he would not scream, not beg, not make a sound.  He would just take what he had to, and endure.  If he lived through the nightmare, perhaps he could . . .

He heard a soft “plop” behind him, but he didn't move at first.  Minutes ticked by, and finally Jothan could stand no more.  He craned his head around and saw, to his surprise, the Doctor was sitting on the grating.  His pants were around his knees and his eyes were unfocused and dreamy.  He didn't move or talk; he just sat there as if stunned.

Jothan was confused at first, then remembered—the Doctor had told him the effects of the bites would wear off in over an hour.  He added up quickly in his mind then gave it up; his sense of time was all mixed up, so he had no idea how much had passed.  Still, if the Doctor wasn't faking, and he certainly didn't look as though he was . . .

“Doctor?  Doctor?” Jothan called softly.  “Doctor, are you all right?  It's me, Jothan.  Are you with me?  Doctor?”

Slowly, the Doctor's eyes came back into focus.  He shook his head a time or two then asked unsteadily, “Have I . . . is it . . .”

“I think it's been over an hour,” Jothan told him.  “You may be coming out of it.  Can you see me?” 

“Jothan, just . . . oh, no, Rassilon, no, I've—” 

“Doctor, please stay calm.  There's no sense—”

The Doctor looked like a rat in a trap.  “I _raped_ you.  Oh, sweet Rassilon, I actually . . .” 

Jothan got stern.  “No you didn't you stupid git, now get up and help me, right now!  I don't have time for your hysterics.”

The Doctor looked around wildly.  “I didn't?  You're sure I . . .”

“GET UP!” Jothan yelled at him.

The Doctor stood to his feet, wobbled a bit, then righted himself.  Pulling up his pants and fastening them, he strode forward, reaching for his leather jacket.  He searched through the pockets, finding a penknife.  He cut the ropes, then got out the sonic screwdriver for the cuffs.  “I can get them unlocked, Jothan,” he said in a detached, clinical way, “but your hand isn't going to fit through the opening in the state it's in.”

Jothan set his teeth.  “Pull it through.  Make it fit.”

“Jothan, that's going to—” 

“Do it.”  Jothan was implacable.  “It'll only be worse later.”

The Doctor took the cuff in one hand and Jothan's arm in the other and pulled hard.  A scream tore through the medic's lips, and the cuff came free.  The Doctor waited, then said, “Now, got to get you to the Med Center.  Can you walk that far?”

“I'll make it,” Jothan gasped.  “It'll hurt worse to be carried or dragged, after all.”

The Doctor put an arm around him and helped him to the Med Center step by step. Once there, Jothan sighed with relief.  “I'm going to need your help with this . . .”

The Doctor sounded normal again . . . almost.  “What do you need?”

“Somewhere there's got to be a hand template for the table.  It'll ensure that my hand is set before I use the bone stimulator.”  Jothan was looking through the medical supplies with one hand.

“What does it look like?”

“It's a glove,” Jothan told him.

The Doctor rummaged around, then brought out a silvery-colored glove.  “This it?”

Jothan nodded.  “That's the one.  Now, I need your help to put it on.”

The Doctor looked scared.  “It'll hurt . . .”

“Setting bones usually does.  Doctor, I can't do this alone . . .”

The Time Lord bit his lip, then nodded resolutely.  He took the glove in his hands, then motioned for Jothan's right hand.  Jothan gave it, flinched, then cried out as the Doctor pulled the glove on.  It took a few seconds before the glove was in position.  Jothan held his hand under the table's healing ray, and stifled another cry as the bones in his hand were positioned correctly.  He handed the  tool to the Doctor and told him, “Setting Five-Yellow should work.  Do at least fifteen passes.”

Slowly, the Doctor passed the bone stimulator over Jothan's injured hand.  After ten minutes, Jothan took the implement from the Doctor and scanned his hand with the table.  “I'll have to be careful, but it'll do for now.  Next, I'm going to need the bite shell; it looks like a mouth guard.”

The Doctor found the item and handed it over.  Jothan sanitized it, put it in his mouth, and bit down to align his teeth correctly, then used another setting on the bone stimulator to finish the job.  Once that was done, Jothan handed the bone stimulator back to the Doctor.  “Ribs are next; setting Three-Red for them, at twenty passes.  I'll have to lie down . . .”

The Doctor assisted Jothan as he lay down on the table, then got to work with the bone stimulator.  It took longer, but after a half-hour, Jothan pronounced the work finished.  “The concussion can't be fixed; I'll just have to rest a while.  Fortunately, it's not as bad as it could be.  Now, your turn.  Let me see those bites.”

The Doctor backed away, shaking his head.  “No.  I don't deserve . . .”

Jothan snapped, “ _I_ don't deserve to get stranded in the Vortex forever because you die of a treatable blood infection!  Now get over here.”

The Doctor sighed, and came over.  It was the work of five minutes to get the bites cleaned out and bandaged, then give a hypospray to combat infection.  Once the work was complete, Jothan straightened up.  “All right, we're patched up pretty well.  Let's survey the rest of the damage.”

The kitchen was completely trashed.  The table had been broken down the middle, and lay where it had fallen.  The chairs were little more than splinters.  The floor was littered with broken dishes and mangled silverware.  Half the cupboard doors had been ripped off, and almost nothing remained on shelves.  Jothan just took in the whole scene.  He took a step into the mess and reached, picking up the badly damaged toaster.  The Doctor tried to speak, but Jothan held up a hand.  “Right,” he said finally.  “Looks like we'll need to do a bit of cleaning up.  Is the stasis box broken as well?”

The stasis box was the Time Lord equivalent of a refrigerator.  It kept food suspended in time until it was eaten.  “The stasis box is fine,” the Doctor said carefully.  “We need to talk about what —”

“Well, that's one saving grace for the day,” Jothan cut him off brightly.  “Looks like my mug is still in one piece as well.  That's a good beginning.  You find a broom and I'll get the dustbin, and we'll soon have this sorted out.”

“I'll do it,” the Doctor said.  “You didn't make this mess; you shouldn't have to put it to rights.”

Jothan sighed.  “We can do it together and—”

“No,” the Doctor said quietly.  “It's my responsibility.  You go rest.  Your concussion . . . you need to sleep.”

Jothan shrugged, then went to his room.  He entered it, then did something he had only done twice since he came on board the TARDIS—he shut and locked his bedroom door.

************

It took the Doctor a long time to clean up the kitchen.  He fixed as many items as he could, disposed of what could not be salvaged, then made up a list of things that would have to be replaced.  He knew that the cabinets would repair themselves in time; a lot of things in the TARDIS did.  Still, he thought it would be more conducive to Jothan's healing if they didn't have to wait.  In the end, he moved the stasis box from its place, pushed it out into the hall with a great deal of effort, and had the TARDIS take a kitchen out of storage to use instead.  He wrestled the stasis box into its new place, then sat down at the new table with his list, adding a few items.  He then went into the Console Room and cleaned that up as well.  He got a new coat rack out of storage to replace the ruined one, and disposed of the broken pieces.  Finished with that task, he went to his workshop.

This room was trashed as well.  The tools and implements had been ripped from the walls and flung helter-skelter.  Carefully sorted shelves and drawer contents lay here and there.  It would take a long time to put it all to rights, and at last the Doctor just shrugged and closed the door.  It would still be there when he made time for it, but this was not the time.  Right now he needed to wrap his mind around the events of the day.  He went into the new kitchen and searched until he found some tea and a teakettle.  Filling the kettle, he set it on the “stove” to heat, then sat down and put his head in his hands.

He couldn't remember everything in great detail; a lot of it had been pure blind rage, such as destroying the kitchen and the workshop.  He vaguely remembered dragging Jothan into the Console Room and tying him up, then waiting for the medic to wake.  Things got a lot clearer after that.  He could recall every word, every gesture, right up to the point when he started taking down his trousers.  He heard the snide tone in his voice, felt the boiling fury, remembered it all with crystal clarity, and he was ashamed.  

He had hurt Jothan badly, and not just physically.  Some of what he had said was targeted specifically to hurt and wound.  It might have been lies, but they were lies based on aspects of Jothan that he knew the medic felt the most sensitive about.  Jothan was always worried that he was too needy, always concerned about his weight and his place in the Doctor's hearts.  He was well aware that Jothan felt inferior to the Doctor, and wanted to prove that he was “just as good” as the Time Lord.  Now the Doctor had gone and played on each of those insecurities and basically made Jothan feel worthless.  As bad as the physical damage had been, the Time Lord knew the emotional damage would be more lasting and cut far deeper.

What could the Doctor do to heal those wounds?  Was there anything he _could_ do?  He had no answers.  All he knew was that he loved Jothan, brave Jothan, who hadn't been afraid to stand up to him, hurt and frightened as he must have been.  Jothan had been strong, too; he'd only cried out in pain once during the whole ordeal, and that had been because of the hammer.  The Doctor shivered, remembering.  

The teakettle was beginning to sing.  The Doctor took it off the heat and made the tea in an old teapot, then poured it into a mug and added a bit of honey.  He held the cup in his hands, unable to drink.  What was he going to do?  How could he make things better, make up for what he had done?  It wasn't like he could run away from what had happened.  If it had been any other companion, he might have been tempted to send them home, ostensibly for their own safety, but more for his own guilt.  But he could not do that with Jothan, not with the man he had come to love, and come to need.  Living without Jothan was just not something the Doctor thought he could face.

That was another possible scenario—what if Jothan _wanted_ to leave?  The Time Lord could hardly blame him; the medic had been savagely attacked by the person who was supposed to be his protector.  It would be only natural for Jothan to look for safer surroundings after such a nightmare.  Jothan had every right and reason to go, and the Doctor couldn't think of a single argument to deter him.  He put the cup of tea down as his hands began to shake, followed by the rest of him.  Jothan might decide to return to Outpost Seventeen, and there wasn't a single thing he could do to stop it.  He didn't even have the right to beg, not now.

He sat there shaking for hours until Jothan came in.  As he heard the medic coming he straightened up and forced himself to be still.  He needed to pull himself together; he had no right to fall apart when Jothan might need him.  He stayed seated, but did his best to read Jothan's mood from where he was.  He couldn't get much; the medic was carefully guarded today.  He looked like he hadn't slept at all, but his face was composed and set.  “Your tea's stone cold,” the young man observed.

The Doctor didn't even try to pretend he was all right.  “I couldn't bring myself to drink it,” he admitted sadly.  “Jothan, what happened yesterday—”

“Nice kitchen.  Lots bigger, and plenty of cupboard space.  Is there more tea?”

“Jothan, please!  What happened . . .”

The young man suddenly sat down, his face turning pale.  “What happened isn't something I can talk about right now.  Maybe later, maybe even soon, but not right now.”  He looked around and asked shakily, “Where's the toaster?”

“I wasn't able to fix it; we'll have to get a new one.  Actually, there's several things we'll have to replace.  Apart from a couple of mugs and teacups all the dishes are gone, and half the silverware isn't usable.  The toaster's gone, and so is the hyper-wave.  The hand-held blender _may_ work, but I seriously doubt it.  Are you up for a shopping trip?”  

“Yes,” Jothan told him, standing and going over to the cupboard for his mug.  “What kind of tea did you make?  I'll need to heat it with an immersion stick, I assume?”

“It's Jadisarl Dragon tea.  Leaves from the tree look exactly like dragon scales.  There's an immersion stick in the nearest drawer, unless you want the sonic screwdriver.”  The Doctor picked up his cup of tea, trying to decide if it was worth heating up again.

“I'll use the immersion stick, thanks,” Jothan replied.  He heated up his own tea, then sat back down at the table.  He took a sip of tea, then smiled a little.  “This is good tea.  I always have envied your tea collection.  So, where are we going to shop?”

“No idea.  Brantyyr Six is a culinary planet, so they can manage the more modern items, but I'm not sure where to go for the silverware or the dishes.”

“We can always head back to Earth.  That's where most of it came from to start with, and I don't think we'll be needing Anthimer gombulfarenets again anytime soon.  Knife, fork, spoon, and chopsticks do well enough for what we eat.”

“Earth it is,” the Time Lord agreed.  “There's some fruit from earlier in my pockets if you're hungry . . .”

Jothan shrugged.  “We can always get something to eat there.  Maybe we can head to France and get fresh chocolate croissants.”

“If that's what you want, that's where we'll go,” the Doctor answered, putting down his tea.  He stood, and went to the Console Room to set the controls.

************

Their trip to 1995 France was uneventful, and even boring.  They got the croissants Jothan wanted, then spent time looking at dishes and glasses, finally deciding what to get.  The silverware was bought and paid for, and they headed back to the TARDIS with their purchases.  They barely spoke during the whole trip; the Doctor couldn't think of anything to say.  He could barely look at Jothan without breaking down.  He just wanted to fix things, make it better, but he had to admit that it might not be within his power to do so.  He felt helpless, lost, and scared.  Every moment he expected for Jothan to demand to be taken back to his life before the Doctor, and he was relieved when the moment didn't come.

Brantyyr Six was no better.  The moment they landed and got their money, Jothan asked quietly, “Is it all right if I meet you back here in a few hours?  I'll let you get the items on our list; I just . . .”

What could he say?  There was no way he could refuse, no good argument he could make.  “Of course,” he replied, trying to put a brave face on it.  “We'll meet back here in . . . four hours.  That should be enough time, shouldn't it?”

He watched Jothan lose himself in the crowd, then sadly made his way through the aisles of merchandise on his own.  He bought a hyper-wave first, as it would be heavy and bulky, then installed it and went back for the other things they needed.  After that he just wandered aimlessly.  He thought about getting Jothan a present from the chocolate section, but he changed his mind; no present was going to improve things.  Gifts were for little spats and lovers' quarrels, not for severe beatings and near-death experiences.  He listlessly fought off an overzealous popcorn-machine vendor, and left the Earth section with his wares.  He put them in the kitchen, then decided to wait for Jothan to return.

He got more and more nervous as the four hours came and went.  What if Jothan didn't come back at all?  What if he had just been looking for an excuse to leave?  He might be able to find the TARDIS key, but that would do him no good if the medic had thrown it away.  Would Jothan have enough money to live on before he could find a place to stay?  Would he find someone to befriend him, look after him?  What would—

The TARDIS door opened, and Jothan came in with several packages.  He looked a little embarrassed and said shyly, “Sorry, I lost track of time.  They had a lot of neat things in the chocolate section; I picked up a few.  Did you check out their teas?”

“No,” the Doctor mumbled.  “I just . . .”

“Well, they had quite the selection.  Too bad you missed it.  I'm going to put this stuff away.  Did you get anything to eat?  They were offering a lot of samples, though I asked about everything I tried.  No sense being stupid.”

“Didn't feel hungry,” the Doctor murmured, studying his boots.

“You should have,” Jothan told him.  “Now we'll both be on different eating schedules.  Oh, well, could be worse.”  He left the Console Room.

Jothan was back in a few minutes, hanging up his denim jacket.  “Did you get everything on your list?”  he wondered.

The Doctor roused himself with a shake.  There was no need to give Jothan the silent treatment just because of his own feelings.  He had to snap out of it, but somehow he couldn't.  “Got everything I came for.”

“You really should have checked out the teas.  Some of them were quite exotic.  We could stay you know, and go back tomorrow . . .”

“Some other time, perhaps,” the Doctor responded.

“Where are we off to next?” Jothan asked.

“Dunno.”

Jothan sat down on the seat and sighed.  “It's not working, is it?” he asked sadly.

The Doctor stiffened, not daring to reply.  This was it.  Jothan was going to leave him.

“There's nothing for it, is there?”  Jothan made it more of a statement than a question.

Again, the Doctor did not answer.  His hands were balled into fists, the fingernails cutting into the skin.  He couldn't move, couldn't see, could barely think.

“It's like there's this big elephant in the room, and neither one of us will come out and say that it's there, even though we have to squeeze past it, and around it, and it smells ghastly . . . oh, hell.  I'm doing this all wrong.  I know you're angry, but I—”

The Doctor sat up straight, cutting Jothan off.  “Angry?  _Me_ , angry?  What possible right do I have to be angry?  You're the one who should be angry, furious, even.”

Jothan wouldn't lift his head.  “You told me to hide, to get away.  You warned me, and where do I end up—right across the bleeding hall from you.  I may as well have stayed in the Console Room, all the good I did.”

The Doctor felt the blood draining from his face.  “You blame _yourself_ for this?  After I nearly kill you and try to rape you, you think it's _your_ fault?”   He felt his stomach contort inside him.  “I think I'm going to be sick . . . just the thought . . .”

“Then you forgive me?” Jothan sounded wildly hopeful.

“You didn't do anything to be forgiven for, Jothan.  It was me hurting _you_ , don't you remember?  I tied you up, I hit you and tortured you . . .”  The Doctor jumped to his feet.  “All this time, and you thought you _deserved_ it?”  He couldn't take any more; he dashed out and rushed into the bathroom.  He vomited once, twice in the toilet, then lay on the floor, shivering.

Jothan came in, took one look, and left the room.  He came back in a few minutes with a mug of something.  “Here.  This will make you feel better.”

The Doctor didn't even lift his head.  “I don't deserve to feel better.  Not at all.  I deserve to be chucked out into the Vortex . . .”

Jothan sounded cheerful.  “Well, I can't manage that the way my hand is currently, so you're stuck here, for now at any rate.”  He came toward the Doctor with the mug.

“Stop,” the Time Lord moaned.  “It's not right . . . you shouldn't be nice, not for a moment.  I _hurt_ you, Jothan . . .”

Jothan stopped.  He thought for a moment, then sat down on the tile near the Doctor.  “Yes,” he said steadily, “yes, you hurt me.  And you scared me terribly; I thought I would be blind or dead . . . but answer me honestly—did you mean to do it?  Did you wake up in the morning and tell yourself, 'Well, today's the day I get to give Jothan what for.  He'll be sorry he ever came on board'?”

“You _know_ I didn't,” the Doctor groaned.

“Then you're not doing anyone any good moaning over it now.  It's an accident, and though it was dreadful, it's over.  I take it you're not planning on doing it again?”

The Doctor's stomach did another flip, and he retched into the toilet once more.  “I'd throw myself out of the TARDIS right now if I thought it would ever happen again.  I would,” he whispered once he was able to speak.

“Then we have to move on, both of us.  I'll probably be jumpy for the next few days and have some bad dreams, and you'll be down on yourself for a while, but we have to get through this.  How are we going to keep traveling together if we don't?”

The Doctor sat up.  “Then you don't want to go home?”

Jothan said quietly, “This _is_ home.  I plan to stay here as long as you'll have me.  I thought you knew that.”

“I don't know anything anymore,” the Doctor told him.  “After what I've done, the things I've said . . .” 

Jothan looked down again.  “That's another thing.  I'll try and fix what I can of what you've told me, but I'll always be human; I can't change that.”

The Doctor reached out for Jothan's hand desperately.  “You can't believe any of those things, Jothan.  They were lies—cruel, insulting, horrid lies.”

“Were they?” Jothan said very quietly, pulling away.  “They seemed spot on to me.”

“If you believe anything I ever say, believe this:  it was just nasty, hurtful lies.  None of it's true, not a single word.  You can't go on believing that they're true, you just can't.”

“They say every lie has a kernel of truth to it, and these are no exception.  I _am_ a pathetic—” 

“Not at all,” the Doctor told him, trying to find the medic's hand.  Again, Jothan pulled out of his reach.  He tried once more, and then stopped.  Maybe Jothan didn't want the Time Lord touching him after what had happened.

Jothan looked down, then grabbed his wrist.  “Your hand's bleeding.  Both of 'em are.  We'll need to get you to the Med Center and fix those . . .”

“My hands can wait,” the Doctor said stubbornly.  “You can't.  We've got to have this out, right now.  I need you to understand.  None of what I said is true.  You're not worthless.  You're not needy.  You're kind and clever, you love me much more than I deserve—”  

“We both know that isn't true,” Jothan told him sadly.  “We're not even the same species.  You deserve to have a Gallifreyan mate.  You had a wife once, even.  You can't tell me that you wouldn't want that back.”

“Actually, I wouldn't,” the Doctor told him.  “It was an arranged marriage, for political reasons; there was no love there.  She didn't have the capacity.  We Loomed three children and lived together for years, but there wasn't a day of love between us.  It wasn't until Susan came along that there was someone in my family that would accept my love.  That's one reason I took her with me when I left; I couldn't bear the thought of having no one to love.  I've gone without that love for so long, so many centuries, and then I found you . . .”

Jothan responded quietly, “You said you'd give up any ties with Earth to have Gallifrey back.  Was that a lie as well?  Wouldn't you want your planet back, your people, in exchange for us?”

“No, Jothan.  I'm sorry things happened the way they did, and I'll never get over all the blood on my hands, but I wouldn't change it, can't change it.  I couldn't alter any of it without changing who I am, and I can't imagine doing things differently.  My planet had to die.  I had to get involved with Earth.  Some things are fixed, and my involvement with your people is one of those things.”

Jothan told him, “I think part of what you said _is_ true, though you may not want to admit it now.  You're angry you lost Gallifrey, and that Earth survived.  You're angry that you got stuck with me rather than the Gallifreyan lover you deserve.  You're—” 

“No, no,” the Doctor mourned.  “None of that's true; you've got it all wrong . . .”

“What was her name?”

“What?” the Doctor shook his head.

Jothan persisted.  “Your wife—what was her name?”

“Maralthahedronisicalimar.  I called her 'Hedron'.”  The Doctor frowned, trying to remember.

“What did she call you?” the medic wanted to know.

The Doctor answered slowly, “She called me 'Theta'.  Pretty much everyone called me 'Theta', until I left for Earth the first time.  Then I made everyone call me 'Doctor'.”

Jothan was quiet, then picked up the mug and handed it to the Doctor.  “Here, drink.  It's all cold now, but it should still work.  Pladronusta tea; it should settle your stomach.”

The Doctor took the mug and drank, his stomach calming down almost at once.  He drained the cup, then stood up.  “I'll take this back to the kitchen.”

Jothan followed him in as he put the cup in the dishwasher.  The Doctor tried to take his hand, but the medic evaded his grasp.  “Come on.  Let's get your hands fixed up.”

************

The next week passed quietly.  They examined the Horsehead Nebula and did a few experiments.  The two went to China to witness construction of the Great Wall.  They visited ancient Greece for the very first Olympics, and stopped at an electronics dump on Vevra Nine for a few days, finding some parts for the TARDIS.  They went to a planet called Histemeglu, which was meadows and fields full of beautiful flowers.  Jothan flew a kite in the strong wind, and the Doctor examined the butterflies that landed on his arms, mistaking him for a flower.  They rarely spoke, and never of the incident.  They ate sandwiches and drank tea, and Jothan went to bed alone, locking his door.  

After the day on Histemeglu, Jothan took a shower, then popped his head back into the kitchen where the Doctor was sitting.  “Good night,” he said pleasantly.

The Doctor followed him out of the kitchen.  It was now or never; he'd wanted to do it often, but it had always seemed too soon.  “May I join you?”

Jothan seemed confused.  “What for?”

“I . . . I want to be close to you.”

Jothan gave him a sad smile, shaking his head.  “There's no need for that.  I'm an adult; I 'm okay sleeping by myself.”

The Doctor sighed inwardly; Jothan hadn't forgotten his comments yet, his evil, vicious lies.  “You used to like it when I stayed with you.  You used to let me hold your hand and rub your back and all sorts of little things like that all the time, and you don't anymore.”

Jothan sighed.  “I don't need you to humor me, Doctor.  I can handle this on my own.  Good night.”

“Please let me join you, just until you fall asleep.  I want . . . I need to do this.”

Jothan looked at him steadily.  “Why?”

The Doctor sighed.  “I want you to know I love you, that's all.”

“I know you love me; you've told me often enough.”

“It's more than that,” the Doctor told the medic.  “You're a tactile-responsive person.  For you, love involves physical contact.  Touch makes you feel safe and cared for.  How can I soothe you or comfort you if I can't touch you?”

Jothan looked away.  “You said, that day you said . . .”

“I told you, it was all lies.  You're not needy, Jothan.  You respond best to touch, that's all, and you deserve to be touched and cuddled.  When I hurt you . . . I took that away from you.  I'm just trying to give it back, that's all.  I want to hold you, show you how much you mean to me . . .” 

The medic wouldn't meet his eyes.  “All right—but only for a little while.”

They went into Jothan's bedroom.  Jothan lay down first, and the Doctor lay next to him.  He usually went without the covers, but this time he accepted them without a murmur.  He had to do this right, had to make contact with Jothan again.  He turned down the lights and let the medic get comfortable, then put his arms around him and held him close.

Jothan didn't speak for a long time, but he finally mumbled, “I'm weak.  I'm pathetic and weak.  Look at me lying here, needing you to hold me.  How pitiful.”

The Doctor was very firm.  “Everyone deserves love, Jothan.  You do, I do . . . and so many people never find it.  We should celebrate that we have each other, not push each other away.  I want you to feel loved and safe and special, and this is a way that I can.”

“I shouldn't need this,” Jothan muttered darkly.  “I should be above all this . . .”

“Why should you?” the Doctor asked sensibly.  “I'm not.”

“You don't need to be held and—”

The Doctor gave Jothan a squeeze.  “I enjoy our time like this very much, just as you do.  It feels good, and it feels safe and warm and loving.  Why shouldn't we enjoy each other's company?  Besides, you _would_ do without it if you needed to.  Since you don't have to, why deprive yourself of comfort, of something special?”

“I still feel stupid,” Jothan grumbled.

“Do you feel stupid for breathing, or for needing food?  Living beings have needs.  This is just one of them.  Please don't put yourself down about it.”  

The Doctor waited for Jothan to say something else, to admit how he was feeling.  They hadn't been connecting emotionally at all since the incident, and the Time Lord was hoping that this closeness would break down the wall that had built between them.  Finally he said, “I'm scared, Jothan.  It feels like I'm losing you, like you're pulling away, and I don't know what to do.”

“I'm not trying to punish you or anything . . .” Jothan mumbled.

The Doctor sighed.  “I know you're not, but I need to understand.  Tell me how I can help.”

It took a while, but finally Jothan responded, “I know you say what you said was lies, but it's hard for me to believe.  You have every right to be angry for losing your planet, angry for a lot of things—even angry with me.  You were right; I'm small consolation for losing everything you had.”

“The two aren't connected, Jothan.  It's not like I had to lose Gallifrey and got you instead.  It just turned out that way.  I could have as easily met you before the Time War—and I don't want to imagine for a second what that would be like.  Then I would have more than likely lost you as well as Gallifrey.”

Jothan was silent, then asked slowly, “If you could have Gallifrey back, but it meant losing me, would you?  I know it's not possible, and I shouldn't even ask, but . . . would you?”

The Doctor lay very still.  At last he admitted, “I can't answer that question.  I know what you want me to say . . .”

“If you had some pat answer, it would have been a lie.  At least you're honest with me.”  Jothan took a breath and asked in a small voice, “You think I'm too thin as well, don't you?  You can admit it, I'll understand . . .”

“What—do you think I'd love you more if you were a porker?”

Jothan laughed a little.  “Maybe not a 'porker', but . . .”

The Doctor smiled a little himself.  “I think you're beautiful,” he said simply.

Jothan relaxed into the Doctor's arms a little.  “I know I shouldn't even ask these things,” he said sheepishly.

“I think you worry too much,” the Doctor told him, “but I'd rather have you asking me than worrying and wondering all by yourself.  It's too big a universe for you to be all alone in.  Let me share it with you.” 

Jothan was quiet, then said in a serious voice, “Would you have taken me back?  If I'd asked you to, would you have done it?”

“Yes, I would have,” the Doctor told him.  “It would have killed me to do it, but I would have, and that's always what that answer will be.  If you do decide you have to leave I'll beg, I'll plead, and I'll whimper, but in the end I'll let you go.”

Jothan yawned and relaxed a little more.  “Where will we go tomorrow?”

“I don't care about tomorrow,” the Doctor told him.  “I'm just focusing on not mucking up now.”  He paused, and then said, “I am sorry, Jothan.  So sorry I hurt you, sorry I said those terrible things.  I truly apologize for the whole mess.”

“I forgive you, even though it wasn't your fault,” Jothan reassured.  “Things will get back to normal soon, I'm sure.  But for now, let's just forget about it.  I'm tired now; do you want to go?”

“No,” the Doctor said firmly, “I'm right where I belong.  In all of Space and Time, this is the only place I want to be.”

 

************Story to follow:  High Crimes  ************

  

 


End file.
